


brave in the moonlight

by cave_canem



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 20:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cave_canem/pseuds/cave_canem
Summary: “If we're caught in the middle of the night in the school we're about to deface, I'd say our covers are already gone through the roof.”“We're not about todefacethe school. It's just a little senior spirit.”Or, the one they break into the school at night and feelings get in the way.





	brave in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a real life evening when my best friend and I kind of broke into our middle school out of nostalgia (the doors were open okay) and got kicked out unceremoniously. oops.

“If we get caught,” Percy mutters as he considers the wall in front of them, “it's your fault and I'm out of here.”

Monty gasps. “You'd leave me behind?”

“In a heartbeat,” Percy lies.

“That's fair.” Monty pretends to give it some thought. Or maybe he really does—it's Monty, after all. “We can say I'm fully deaf and you don't know sign language.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How is that useful?”

“So that we don't mutually blow our cover!”

“If we're caught in the middle of the night in the school we're about to deface, I'd say our covers are already gone through the roof.”

“We're not about to _deface_ the school. It's just a little senior spirit.”

Monty is holding a can of spray paint to use on big white paper banners and enough toilet paper for a month is waiting in the trunk.

“I don't feel like it's a good idea,” Percy mutters once again. Then: “Try that spot, the camera is broken in this corner.”

Monty's face brightens. He grins at Percy, big and crooked and mischievous enough that Percy wants to grab him and press him against the wall, instead of helping him climb up said wall to do some minor property damage.

On the other hand, helping Monty up and making sure he doesn't get caught on camera and probably arrested will have to do.

Monty puts the can of spray paint away and shoulders his backpack, head tilted back to look up at the top of the wall. It's a tall thing, three meters high and mostly smooth, but the low branches of a tree fall down on the outside. If Percy can lift up Monty, then he might be able to grip the branches and use them to climb up the rest of the way. They can probably use the tree to get down the other way.

Then they just have to pray they won't get caught and are able to go out the way they came in.

“Okay,” Monty says, jumping up once or twice on the balls of his feet. “Prop me up?”

Percy links his hands, waiting until he feels Monty's foot push down on his hold to propel him up. Monty's hands are hot on his shoulders, awkwardly balanced as he stands on one foot. They brand Percy through his sweater, fire hot through the material. It doesn't last; Monty lets go to reach up, almost knocking Percy off-balance as he kicks out backwards.

He's so terribly awkward with physical activities.

 _Not every physical activity,_ Percy's brain supplies treacherously.

Shut up, Percy thinks, focusing on the way Monty hoists himself up more or less graciously until he's sitting atop the wall, one leg hanging on each side of it.

“How's the view?” Percy asks. Monty's arching back to look through the leaves of the tree and Percy is very pointedly ignoring the images this position is summoning to his imagination.

He really needs to get a grip.

“All good,” Monty says after a while. He's still holding on a branch, looking down at Percy with his pleased smile. “Come up?”

“Help me out,” he says.

Monty bears down on the branch until it dips low enough that Percy can grip it and use it to climb up. His hands slip twice; never enough to lose his grip, but he yanks on a fistful of leaves and the scrapes left on his hands hurt more than they should.

Monty's leaning down as much as he can. He catches Percy's hand in a firm grip and doesn't let go even as Percy settles on the wall next to him.

Maybe he hasn't realized yet. Monty's a very tactile person with the right people—mainly with Percy, because Monty doesn't really have friends. Percy hadn't noticed how much until a few years ago, and then he's never been able to get it out of his brain ever since.

“No one,” Monty says after a while. He squeezes Percy's hand once before letting go.

“Uh?” Percy manages. He rubs his hand on his thigh, hoping to relieve the burning feeling in his palm and the thrumming of his heart.

Monty looks back at him, his eyes dipping low to where Percy's hand is still on his thigh before going back up.

“Let's go,”he says, and he jumps off before Percy can tell him to be cautious.

They've chosen their climbing point well. The tree grows just over the garbage bins, at the back of the school kitchens. It means that Monty lands barely two meters down on a concrete roof, instead of breaking an ankle on the ground. Percy follows, though his jumps are smaller because of his longer legs. Where Monty has to be careful and land in a crouch, Percy simply swings his legs overboard and lets gravity do the rest of the job.

“I hate your overgrown limbs,” Monty says, rubbing gravel out of his palms.

Percy resists the urge to grasp his hands and kiss them better. Dear God, this is becoming embarrassing.

“You love them,” he says. “They're good for hugs and running to the front of the line at the cafeteria.”

Monty elbows him but he doesn't say anything. They scurry along the kitchen wall, avoiding windows in case someone else is lurking around the school well after ten at night.

It’s eery, being on school grounds so late at night. None of the lights are on; only their extensive knowledge of the school grounds guide them past the administration buildings, along the blind wall of the pool with its gleaming glass roof.

“Here,” Percy says, when they arrive at the back door they marked earlier that day.

“Open it,” Monty says, looking at the time on his phone. “I wanna be back in bed before midnight.”

“You and your beauty sleep,” Percy says, but then Monty flips his hair dramatically and he has to bite down a laugh.

Percy crouches down, gesturing for Monty to direct his phone’s flashlight down toward him, and feels for the small wooden block they wedged under the door before going home that afternoon. Thankfully, it’s still here. Untouched, like they hoped, because this door is almost never used by students. Monty pockets the wedge and Percy slides his fingers in the gap it created, tugging the handleless door open with as little noise as possible.

It’s not quite a success. They freeze in place after one particularly loud creak. Percy’s heartbeat pounds in his ears; he tries to down it so he can listen for approaching steps and any clue that they’ve been discovered, but the sound is impossible to drown. Monty’s frozen still next to him, head cocked to the side. Percy can’t see his face in the dark but he can see it just as well; Monty’s lips slightly pursed, the tiny frown between his eyebrows.

“Let’s go,” he whispers after a while, when no one comes for them and the night goes back to its former silence. Percy touches Monty’s arm when he doesn’t move. Monty’s start surprises them both, but they slip through the crack of the door before Percy can apologise.

Monty stops inside just short of the door, which means that Percy is crowded against him when he tugs the door closed behind him.

Their arms are pressed against each other, Monty’s elbow digging slightly in Percy’s guts because of their ridiculous height difference. If Percy took one more step and leaned down, he could tuck Monty under his chin. Unfortunately for his self-control, they hug enough for him to know exactly how well they fit into each other’s arms. Percy’s mind is full of useless little details he’s gathered without knowing it, like the softness of Monty’s hair tickling his nose or the press of his cold nose just above Percy’s collar.

Percy can’t tell what Monty’s thinking. His own heart feels like it might beat right out of his chest with a thrilling mix of fear and arousal. _He’ll hear it_ , he thinks nonsensically. _Or he’ll feel it against his shoulder_.

Monty does neither. After an excruciating moment, he squeezes Percy’s upper arm and steps away, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.

The school hallways are gloomily empty and dark. Emergency exit signs project spools of green light on the floorboard. Smoke detectors lazily blink red in tandem with their steps.

“Wait,” Monty says as they pass past the teachers’ lounge. “I’ve always wanted to go in there.”

“It’s just a bunch of couches and coffee machines,” Percy says, slightly smug of his knowledge.

“Teacher’s pet,” Monty whispers back.

Percy was invited once by a teacher who had wanted to grab a stack of copies. He’d stayed off the way, close to the door, and had avoided every other teachers’ gaze. But he _has_ been—there’s no chance of Monty ever going in legally. He’d need better grades to begin with and the impossible skill of caring enough about school to gather teachers’ approval.

Monty tries the door anyway. It’s closed, naturally, and seeing as neither of them knows how to pick a lock, they’re forced to move on without satisfying Monty’s curiosity.

They stop when they reach the main staircase, ascending it carefully while frequently glancing down. Guards are supposed to patrol every night but Percy and Monty have yet to see even the shadow of one.

They’ve gone through the plan enough times that they advance quickly, carefully dragging the benches lined against the walls to hang the banners from the ceiling. Percy mostly takes care of the fixing while Monty slips the flyers someone in Percy’s English class designed in every locker. On the second floor they take some time to spray the last banner, careful not to leave any marks on the floor. Percy’s hand is surer but he stands watch as Monty tries to put the very expensive drawing lessons his father paid him when he was young to use. They seem incredibly loud in the unusual quietness of the school.

The spraying is interrupted.

“Fuck,” Monty mutters. He shakes the can once again and resumes.

“Don’t put any on the floor,” Percy warns. “That thing doesn’t come off.”

“I _know_.”

There’s a noise outside. Percy’s standing close to the window; from his vantage point, he can see a lone car pulling into the parking lot.

“Fuck,” he says, low enough that Monty doesn’t even stop. “Monty, can you hurry?”

“Almost done. Someone’s here?”

The car door opens and the driver comes out. It’s one of the guards. Percy recognizes his stature and his uniform.

“Actually, yeah.”

Monty swears again, but the spraying stops. “Help me,” he says, standing with a rustle of paper. Percy joins him in three steps and they make quick work of the last banner.

“All done. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Monty says, “I wanna swing by Richard Peele’s locker again.”

“Dear god.”

“You can go if you want.” Monty says it without looking at Percy, shrugging his bag back on. He grins when Percy turns back to the stairs they’ve come up, the far way from the exit.

“Are you kidding me?”

* * *

To Percy’s surprise, Monty goes for the lock.

“I thought you didn’t know how to pick locks?” Percy says.

“It’s a combination lock, you can’t pick them. I do however,” he says, turning the dials, “know dear Dick’s combination.”

Percy watches with interest as Monty plants a bottle of lube and a pack of tissues on top of Richard Peele’s pile of books. “For his right hand,” he says. “Seeing as we’re never going to see each other again.”

It’s a bitter reminder that Monty’s active sex life not only does not include Percy in it, but that he’s also sleeping with the boy who outed him, to disastrous consequences, when they were in middle school.

“Right,” Percy says.

Monty sticks a post note on the bottle, probably bearing the same kind of message, then he reaches further inside and takes out an opened box of condoms.

“Why does he have those in here?” Percy asks. “And what are you going to do with them?”

“Keep them.” Monty’s voice is casual. “We have the same—”

“Please do not finish that sentence. Can we go? Are you finished with your revenge?”

“No,” Monty says as he roots around his bag, taking out a handful of _something_. “I’m going to humiliate him.”

He throws what he’s holding inside the locker, so that the little squares—more condoms, Percy sees when one of them falls to his feet—get in every corner. Monty shuffles the books and jacket inside, slipping condoms in every crack.

“So you’re just going to—what, mess it up?”

It seems a little tame, as far as pranks go, but Monty tuts. “Look closer.”

Their eyes have adapted to darkness well enough that the light of his phone almost blinds Percy when he turns it on. He looks at the condom incredulously.

“Oh,” he says, rolling his eyes. They’re cheap, extra-small condoms from the health clinic. It definitely suggests something about Richard Peele that his pompous and arrogant ass would never bear. “Very clever.”

“I’m not saying I’m the greatest evil mastermind of our generation. But if it can make him feel even half as shitty as hooking up with him made me feel, I’ll take it.”

“No one forces you,” is out before Percy can remember to dose out his bitterness. Monty rips the condom from Percy’s hand and throws it inside with the others.

“Let’s go,” he says, closing the locker firmly.

“I’m sorry.”

Monty glances at Percy. “It’s fine,” he says, which probably means that it’s not. Then, taking a deep breath, he says: “I haven’t actually done anything with him in a month.”

Considering the number of times Monty’s disappeared with Richard to give or receive a handjob behind the gym—Percy really doesn’t need or want the details—a month is impressive.

Percy can’t help the burst of hope blooming in his chest. Is it that Monty’s finally realized that he was worth more than the way his self-hatred has let him treat himself, or that he knows Percy has a deeper, more intimate interest in him not hooking up with other people?

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” he says anyway, because it’s true. “But I’m glad.”

“Really?”

Monty stops so abruptly that Percy is five steps ahead of him by the time he realizes Monty’s not at his side anymore. He turns and says carefully:

“You were always so down after you went with him. I hate to see you like that.”

“Oh.” Monty starts walking again. Percy waits until he’s caught up with him to fall into stride with him. “And—”

“And?”

Monty’s hand is on his elbow, light but and warm with intent that stops Percy in his tracks again. They’re just in front of the door; through the window pane, the light from outside shines over Monty’s face, coloring his hair more gold than brown. Percy can see him licking his lips, worrying his bottom lip, headed tilted back to look at Percy in the eyes.

“And no other reason why you don’t like seeing me go with Richard Peele?”

“He’s a dick. Monty—”

Monty’s tone grows more urgent. “Tell me I haven’t been shouting in the void all this time,” he says. “I can’t believe it’s not true or that you haven’t noticed. I’m not exactly subtle, Percy. I know you—” He stops, sounding frustrated.

Percy’s heart is beating wildly in his ribcage.

“You like me,” he dares, but it comes out as a question.

He thinks about Monty’s propensity to touch him, hug him; the way his eyes always seem to turn Percy’s way every time they’re in the same room together. All this time, Percy has been hoping but never truly believing.

Monty is silent for a beat, and Percy fears that he’s lost him again, but then he says, “Yes,” in a low voice, and Percy’s heart forgets how to beat for a second.

“You like me,” he repeats. This time it sounds like an exclamation.

“If you could say something else,” Monty says through his teeth, “that sounds like ‘me too’, I’d like that.”

“Sorry,” Percy says, and then he bends down to bring their faces closer.

Monty sidesteps. “What?” he yelps.

“What, what?” Percy catches his footing again after almost tripping.

“What are you sorry for? Is it a ‘sorry you feel that way, Monty, real inconvenient that you’ve liked your best friend for two years,’ or ‘sorry but I have to go and you repulse me,’ or ‘sorry you’ve ruined our friendship,’ or—”

Percy stops listening. “You’ve liked me for two years?” he asks.

“Is that what you choose to focus on?”

“Well, yes. Obviously!” A grin that Percy is helpless to fight starts to make his way on his face. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Because,” Monty splutters, waving his arms around him. “I didn’t know if you’d receive the confession well. I _still_ don’t know, by the way, so if you could jump on that, that’d be swell.”

Suddenly, Percy realizes that Monty can’t see his face. Percy is turning his back to the door and the light coming from outside. Monty’s pale face is bathed in yellow light, and the worry Percy can read in eyes is real.

“Of course,” he says, hands coming up to cup Monty’s face. His fingers brush the scarred skin close to Monty’s ear. Monty shivers, once, but his eyes are wide in the dark. “Of course I like you too, Monty.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Monty says in a small voice. “You _like_ like me? Cause now would be a very bad time to tell me you consider me like your brother.”

Percy laughs. “Can I kiss you?” he asks this time. He’s still holding onto Monty’s face, but he would also like avoiding falling down if Monty moves away again.

Monty’s voice comes out a little strangled, far from his usual smooth chatter. “Sure.”

They share a grin and a laugh, and then their mouth are pressed together. Percy tries not to smile into the kiss, but it’s difficult to contain the elation lifting up his heart inside of him. He wants to shout and run across the hallway. He wants to take Monty’s hand. He wants to kiss him, so he does.

Monty’s lips are soft under his. They open easily, and Percy only has a moment to remember that Monty has much more experience than him—this is Percy’s first kiss, really. He follows suite, trying to imitate what Monty is doing and figure out what feels more natural, and he must do _something_ , because Monty lets out a small noise that turn Percy’s knees weak. Monty grabs the lapel of his jacket, drawing Percy closer. It lights up something in Percy, a burst of flame that their closeness feeds. They break apart sooner than he wishes, but the few inches apart are enough for him to see Monty’s eyes, huge in the semi-darkness.

A door slams in the distance, footsteps approaching.

“Fuck,” Percy swears.

He drops his hands from Monty’s face, regretting the smooth and rough skin under his fingertips. Monty half-turns toward the noise, but then they see the first gleam of a flashlight around the corner, and they take off.

They try to run as softly as possible, but speed is of the essence. Percy’s bag thumps on his back as they make their way down the corridor. The door is very close—

“Hey!”

“Shit,” Monty says under his breath. He barrels into the door, pushing on the handle with all his body. The door opens with a resounding sound, but they’re past caring about discretion.

Behind them, the guard is still bellowing. They spill on the front steps of the school, taking the stairs two at a time.

“What are you doing?” Percy calls, as Monty turns right. “The gates!”

They’re open, left that way after the guard parked his car in.

“The lawn,” Monty pants, but he seems to realize how incongruous he sounds.

“Fuck the lawn.”

Percy catches his sleeve and drags him across the lawn, vaulting over the “keep off the grass” sign.

“Stop right where you are!” the guard shouts behind them.

They’re running so fast that Monty, with his unathletic form, almost careens headfirst into one the posts. Percy tugs him to the side and they cut across the deserted road in front of the school.

They make for the quiet streets surrounding the school.

“Think he’ll stop chasing us?” Monty pants as they slow down. “Now that we’re off the school grounds?”

He stops completely, bending forward with his hands on his knees. They’re breathing so heavily that Percy can’t hear anything over their pants. He swallows twice, wanting to get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth.

“He’s not from the police,” he says. “I’m not sure they’re allowed to catch us in the street.”

“So we’re fine.” Monty drops in the middle of the road, sitting down so suddenly Percy fears for his knees. “Ouch. Well, that hurt. We did it, though.”

They did. Monty looks up at Percy, beaming at him with unbridled joy. It’s a mischievous look. Percy can’t help grinning back.

“Get up,” he says. “You’re in the middle of the road.”

“They can’t kill me tonight,” Monty claims. He catches Percy’s hand anyway, jumping to his feet.

“Why not?”

“Because we pulled it off.” Monty stands very close. He hasn’t let go of Percy’s hand either. “And because I have to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” Percy plays at surprise. “You _have_ to.”

Monty’s face is serious. It doesn’t last. “A mighty need,” he nods.

“Alright, then,” Percy says, shuffling closer. “Proceed.”

“Am I going to have to do all the work?” Monty huffs, standing on his tiptoes until he’s more level with Percy’s face. Their mouths brush. Monty grips Percy’s jacket for balance; Percy’s hands land on his waist, as easily as breathing.

“Let me think,” Percy starts saying, but Monty’s kissing him before he can find something witty to say.

It might be for the best. The kiss, at least, is definitely good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop a comment if you enjoyed. Also find me/the fic @[jsteneil](http://jsteneil.tumblr.com/post/183672361884/brave-in-the-moonlight-cavecanem-the) on tumblr. Come and chat about my boys!! I love them so much.


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